


New Chevrolet In Flames

by LowerEastSide



Series: Always Crashing In The Same Car [1]
Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Canon - Manga, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, I don't know if you could get a Chevy Caprice in Japan in 1972, Illegal Activities, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Tension, and i don't care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28730160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowerEastSide/pseuds/LowerEastSide
Summary: “Not again,” Akira groans as Ryo pulls up to the curb. He leans over and opens the passenger door. “Get in,” he grins, stretched out long across the bench seat. And of course, Akira does.
Relationships: Asuka Ryo | Satan/Fudo Akira
Series: Always Crashing In The Same Car [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203356
Comments: 17
Kudos: 93





	New Chevrolet In Flames

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Devilman fandom! *waves* None of you know me. I’m suffering alone, please say hello. Unbetaed since I have no one to inflict this on.
> 
> Title from The Mountain Goats “New Chevrolet In Flames,” in which the protagonists buy a new car just to light it on fire, in an apt metaphor for their love.

“Not again,” Akira groans as Ryo pulls up to the curb. It’s a different car than the last time, and the time before that. Another beautiful American machine destined for some sort of mischief.

Ryo leans over and opens the passenger door. “Get in,” he grins, stretched out long across the bench seat. And of course, Akira does. 

He always does.

There’s a distinctive smell in the air, familiar but unnameable. Ryo notices Akira’s sensitive nose twitch. “I took it from the lot,” he says, reaching behind the steering wheel to shift out of park.

“Took it from — you stole it?!” Akira’s surprise is performative at this point. Ryo’s taste for foreign vehicles is sometimes sated by those left behind at crime scenes, or whose former owners have been possessed by demons, but he isn’t above simply taking what he wants. It’s a crime that the old Akira would have flinched away from, but the fact is they need transportation for their quest, and neither of them has the money to continually replace cars over a succession of demon attacks. Ryo, pragmatic as ever, had explained this, and Akira doesn’t disagree, but he can also see the thrill in his best friend’s eyes as they ease onto the roadway. Just because they _have_ to steal cars doesn’t mean Ryo has to like it so much.

The big Chevy purrs beneath them as they pick up speed. “I’ve tracked down a demon in the south of the city,” Ryo explains, rolling down the window. Akira does the same; it’s a hot night, the air so thick he can almost feel it parting around them. “He shouldn’t be too much trouble, but there may be a few others with him. So I thought it best to come prepared.” He glances toward the cavernous backseat, and Akira cranes his neck around to see a number of shotguns laid out there. 

“Shoot first, ask questions later?” Ryo nods, and Akira can feel an unmistakable stirring in his blood, just beneath the surface. The anticipation of violence to come.

The road south leads them up into the hills, in the general direction of Ryo’s old house. They haven’t returned since that night of the Sabbath, and Akira assumes it’s since fallen into ruin, the first car that Ryo had driven under his false license still embedded halfway through the front entrance. This one is much nicer, the new interior soft under Akira’s hand as he idly traces a finger back and forth over the blue-grey trim. The glovebox reads _Caprice,_ and he pops it open, noting the owners manual and a spare set of keys. 

Beside him, Ryo is poking idly at a slot in the dashboard. “Wish I’d thought to bring some tapes.” He flicks the radio on instead, settling on a pop station. It’s an odd soundtrack for their journey, but somehow fitting in it’s innocence. They are simply two teenagers, after all — two teenagers with the weight of the world on their shoulders, both dealing with it in their own way: Akira bottling it up inside until he can unleash hell on a demon or two, Ryo rolling joints during sleepless nights. As if he could hear Akira’s thoughts, Ryo reaches out, leaning over until he’s practically in Akira’s lap, and reaches under the manual in the glovebox to reveal several pre-rolled smokes.

“Watch the road,” Akira says, partly out of concern, partly to distract himself from the warm feeling of Ryo’s body against his.

“Always do,” Ryo answers blithely, sitting up and guiding the car back from an ever-so-slight drift to the right. He pushes the lighter into the dash and waits for it to heat up, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel. He always manages to find the beat to any song, Akira has noticed, whether it be the strange psychedelic rock that night at Sabbath or the newest pop hit. For a moment Akira just watches him as the wind ruffles his blond hair, as the lights over the roadway illuminate his face every few hundred feet in a rhythm of their own.

“Akira.”

“Huh!?” 

Ryo is smirking, evidence that he’s caught Akira staring. “Light this, would you? Wouldn’t want to… take my eyes off the road.”

Akira takes the proffered joint with a grumble that’s mostly out of habit. He’s long gotten over Ryo’s casual drug use, to the point where he’s happy to take one or two hits off the thing himself. That much isn’t enough to affect his demon-enhanced body, but the initial drag is soothing in its motion. He holds the lighter on the edge and puffs until a cherry appears, and hands it back over to Ryo, who takes an even longer drag. The way he blows smoke is hypnotic, but Akira won’t be caught staring again.

Fidgeting, he finds a switch that moves his seat back and forth with a buzz, as well as tilting it backwards. It’s an engaging novelty, and Akira twitches it repeatedly, delighting in the movement. But when he looks up to point it out, Ryo is already watching him, a small smile playing at his lips. Akira stops abruptly, embarrassed to be caught acting so childishly. Ryo doesn’t say anything, though, only leans towards the open window, letting smoke trail out of his mouth and into the night air. 

There’s a strange tension between them, one that’s been building over the past few weeks like the waves of heat blanketing the city. Akira thinks he knows what it is, but he’s also sure it _can’t_ be that, it’s too absurd. He’s been put through the ringer since becoming Devilman, both physically and emotionally, and his thoughts are a jumble at best. He feels ready to break out of his skin at any moment, not just when Ryo is around, so it’s entirely possible he’s misinterpreting it. And Ryo plays everything so close to the vest, he’ll never address it — assuming there’s anything to address in the first place.

As with so many other things, Akira decides he’ll deal with it later. He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes, enjoying the moment of peace before the inevitable conflict, the road rumbling beneath them as Ryo leads the way into hell yet again.

***

Ryo’s predictions were spot on — there’s one large demon and three smaller of his kin. They pounce almost as soon as he and Akira exit the car, and it’s only Akira’s swift transformation that prevents Ryo from being clawed open from hip to chin. He flings himself into the backseat and grabs the first gun his hand touches, swinging around and opening fire from inside, shattering the window without a second thought.

“Guess the words gotten out!” he shouts to Akira, who is busy tearing a limb from one of the minions.

“Looks like it!” Akira growls back, already covered in blood. “Just makes it easier on me!”

Ryo takes his shots when he can get an opening, but it’s mostly unnecessary. Akira is a marvel like this, fighting almost like a dancer despite his size, seeming to know exactly where to strike for maximum damage. The smallest demon dies shrieking under one of his taloned feet, and he turns his attention to the leader. The asshole starts making some pompous speech about demon superiority, taunting Devilman, but Ryo doesn’t bother to pay attention; he has bigger problems ahead. The other two demons, wings blown through with holes, are crawling toward him sinuously, intent on attacking the gunman taking potshots at them.

One leaps directly on top of the car and begins clawing at the roof, while the other tries to reach through the broken glass of the back window to pull Ryo out. He backs away quickly like a sea creature in its shell, grateful for the width of the Chevy, and grabs the last gun. He’ll have to reload after this, which takes time, so these next shots have to count. Unfortunately the demon on the roof rocks the car back and forth, and Ryo’s first shot goes wild, blasting out the windshield. The next one is more accurate, and blows off a good chunk of the other demon’s face as it tries to drag its bulk into the car. It shrieks in pained anger, and reaches for Ryo with it’s stubby arms before coming up short; its remaining eye rolls in confusion, and Ryo realizes with glee that it’s stuck in the window, too fat to come all the way through or to back out. He laughs maniacally and kicks it once in the face before digging in the deep pockets of his trench coat for another handful of shotgun shells. The car rocks again, and a number of them scatter, but he manages to put another round in the gun. 

With an awful grinding sound, the demon above finally manages to tear a hole in the roof, and reaches inside, groping blindly for its prize. Ryo decides to cut his losses on the car and ducks under the grasping hand, sliding over the front seat and out the hole in the windshield, scattering glass along the way. He rolls off the hood of the car and bounces back up almost immediately, coat flaring dramatically behind him as he takes aim at the demon above. It has noticed its quarry escaping and jumps toward him, but Ryo is reloaded and steady now, and he easily dispatches it with two point blank shots to the head.

The second demon still can’t seem to decide whether it should go forward or backward, but its writhing will eventually tear off the door, so Ryo has to act now. He raises the gun, only to hear a faint _click_. He’s out of goddamn ammo and out of goddamn guns, and everything is back in the car. There’s nothing for it: time for the last resort. He reaches into an interior pocket — fuck, he loves this coat — and brings out a slim stick with a fuse. There’s a lighter in the pocket, too, ready to go.

He’d only asked Akira to light that joint because he loves to watch his lips purse around it.

Ryo applies flame to fuse and heaves the explosive toward the ill-fated Chevrolet. It’s a pity, really, he thinks as he turns and runs in the opposite direction. It’d had all the bells and whistles. He’ll keep that in mind for the next time. He ducks behind some fortunately-placed garbage bins and covers his ears, waiting for the _boom._

The ground rocks, and Ryo hears the scraping of falling metal, as well as the dull thud of demon parts raining down around him. Carefully, he peeks out over the bins, and sees the burning wreckage of the car. The only demon in sight is the huge one, still battling with Devilman, visible through the flickering flames.

Ryo’s done his part; now it’s up to Akira to do his.

Neither of them seem to take note of the very large explosion off to their side. It’s like this sometimes, when two near-evenly matched demons face off. They only have eyes for each other. Their battle has raged fiercely while Ryo was dealing with the other two, evident by the amount of blood and their injuries. One of Devilman’s wings is hanging limply, and he’s favoring his left side, but the other one looks much worse off, Ryo notes with relief. There’s nothing he can do now in any case, only watch with his heart in his throat as Akira fights for his life.

It’s still crazy to think of that terrifying beast as Akira, but it is. It’s _his_ Akira in there, covered in gore and grinning madly through it all. Ryo isn’t afraid of him; taking on Amon has sharpened all of Akira’s edges, amplified his desires, but he still has a strong heart that wants to do the right thing. If he didn’t, he’d have lost himself to the possession long ago, and probably devoured Ryo in the process. No, he’s still Akira, just… more.

With a roar, Devilman manages to duck under a punch, and at long last tears the head of his attacker clean off. Blood sprays in a long arc overhead, some sizzling out on the still-burning car, and Devilman throws the head to the ground with a triumphant growl. Ryo lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and watches as the demonic creature before him shrinks down slowly to reveal the kneeling, naked form of his best friend.

Akira is panting, but doesn’t appear too badly injured after all. His wings should re-emerge healed if past experience is anything to go off of. Ryo rises from his hiding place and skirts the flames to approach, swallowing back the sudden heat he feels at the sight of Akira crouched naked and breathing heavily, a dark grin pulling at his lips. 

Ryo isn't stupid, he knows what that feeling means. He’s always been drawn to Akira, like magnets under his skin pulling him along. He didn’t invite Akira along on this awful journey simply because he could handle taking Amon, that he wouldn't give into to his worst human impulses and be totally swallowed up by the demon. No, it was also because he _needed_ Akira, needed him in a way that was as natural as it was frightening.

It’s something he's tried to push away, but these days he wonders if he’s not the only one feeling it, if all the times he’s caught Akira looking at him _mean_ something. But for all his bluster, Ryo is fearful, and he’s terrified he’ll break their friendship in irreparable pieces if he’s wrong.

But he’s also curious to a fault, and he has to know.

Akira turns his head at the sound of approaching footsteps over broken glass. “That was… that was really something,” Ryo tells him, and holds out a hand. Akira takes it, and Ryo pulls him to his feet.

“Shouldn’t have taken that long, but it was hard to get a hit on the asshole. He was over-confident in the end, though. I showed him.” Akira’s voice is still rough; he stretches his neck, the bones cracking, and flexes his shoulders. Ryo gulps. Akira cocks his head. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Ryo says, a bit breathlessly. Akira still hasn’t let go. He looks at their linked hands, sees Akira glance down as well, then back up as their eyes meet.

Ryo kisses him, hot and fast as the flames roaring behind them.

***

Transforming back from Devilman is always a strange experience. It's like the world comes swirling back into focus, when before it had only been fire and blood. Sometimes his thoughts take a minute to catch up. 

Akira returns to himself, his wounded wings folding back and his form shrinking down, and finds himself kneeling on the sticky pavement. His victory tastes sweet. Footsteps — oh, it’s Ryo. He compliments him, and Akira preens, taking the hand he’s offered. He likes pleasing Ryo. Still, he feels he ought to have defeated the other demon faster, and he says so.

Ryo looks… out of sorts, somehow. He’s not injured, is he? “I’m fine,” he says, but he doesn’t _sound_ fine. Oh. Akira is still holding his hand. He hopes that’s OK, because it’s nice.

Then Ryo kisses him, and Akira comes back to himself completely.

It’s a hard kiss, their lips pressed together firmly, but not a long one. It’s definitely long enough for Akira to get his bearings and come to grips with what is happening. Ryo is kissing him, _kissing_ him, and Akira has misinterpreted nothing. All that tension between them, the weeks of shimmering heat, the electric sparks traded across the bench seat of a Chevy, they were leading up to _this._

Ryo pulls back, licking his lips, his eyes wide with shock as if he can’t believe he’d done that. Akira can’t believe it, either. He had been certain it was up to him to make the first move — if there were indeed moves to be made — which is why he was also certain that nothing would ever happen between them. But now with the line crossed, and Ryo looking up at him like that, cheeks flushed, eyes almost daring Akira to protest, all bets are off.

They’re still holding hands.

Akira squeezes Ryo’s palm in his own, leans in. “A… Akira,” Ryo starts, and Akira doesn’t want to hear him try to explain, or god forbid, apologize. Before he can dare take it back, this thing that Akira didn't even know he wanted, Akira pulls Ryo against him to return the kiss.

Ryo gasps in surprise, and his open mouth invites Akira to go deeper. He hadn't let himself even consider imagining this, but that’s fine, because he’s sure his imagination would _never_ have come up with something as wonderful. Ryo’s tongue in his mouth is glorious, and Akira wants to throw his head back and roar to the sky, flush with victory in battle and victory in love. He settles for drinking in the whimper Ryo makes as Akira runs his free hand along his neck. 

Regretfully, Akira is still naked, and can’t hide just how much he’s enjoying himself. But _this_ is still new, and Akira doesn't want to push further, especially out in the open on a bloody pavement. So he breaks the kiss — sucking Ryo’s bottom lip as he goes, he’s proud of that one — and grins bashfully, in contrast to his confidence just a moment before.

“Can I, uh…” He gestures downward. “Can I have your coat?”

Ryo blinks stupidly for a moment, then follows Akira’s motion downward, before snapping his eyes back up, “Yeah, of course, I — here.” Akira considers it a testament to how much Ryo cares for him that he hands it over without hesitation, shrugging out of the sleeves gracefully. Now that he can admit it, Ryo is beautiful, even smelling of smoke, his face flecked with demon blood and his eyes ringed in dark shadows from lying awake with whatever paranoid thoughts run though his head. Before Akira can’t resist kissing him again, he puts the coat on and looks over at the car.

“What happened?” he asks, both impressed and dismayed.

“Dynamite.” 

“Where the fuck did you get dynamite?!” Akira laughs almost hysterically.

“Don’t ask questions, Akira,” Ryo smirks. Says softer, “Don’t I always take care of things?”

“Yeah… yeah, you do.” Akira buries his face in Ryo's shoulder for a moment, breathing him in, feeling soft blond hair brush across his nose.

“Too bad about the car,” he sighs. He’s going to miss those weird seats.

“We hardly knew her,” Ryo says solemnly.

They watch the burning wreckage, a moment of silence for the luxurious vehicle.

“So,” Akira says at last. “How are we getting home?”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always loved those big-ass 70’s boats. I had too much fun looking up options that came with a 72' Chevy. (Power bench seats? Apparently a thing!)
> 
> Best New Artist at the Japan Record Awards in 1972 was Asaoka Megumi, [imagine this on the radio.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YF_QKAG2Xko)
> 
> Come say hello on [tumblr!](https://lower-east-side.tumblr.com)
> 
> (Also, I waffled on the rating, between T and M. I'm usually rating for sex, not violence. Another time, Devilman fans, another time.)


End file.
